A spider lives inside my head
Who weaves a strange and wondrous web
Of silken thread and silver strings
To catch all sorts of flying things,
Like crumbs of thoughts and bits of smiles
And specks of dried-up tears,
And dust of dreams that catch and cling
For years, and years, and years…
Her world is a private
a myriad complex thing
pains that run deep
like a slice with
a wicked knife
into the fruit
of a well worn life
that drips it juices
onto the floor
where others tread
its sticky mess.
Yet she floats.
Always she floats,
above and apart
Wrapped in a delightful
And I, can simply only
wonder when, she will
ask me to join her.
by Philip Wardlow 2017
Time will eat at you while you’re still alive picking your bones clean like a vulture, swallowing you in big gulps but with no droppings to follow later.
Every molecule of you will be forgotten in history…every thought…every nuance to what was you …gone…simply gone. One day.
Just the ask the dinosaur’s bones that litter the world. What were their names? What great sonnets did they compose? What grand edifices did they erect in honor of their forgotten gods? We are but dinosaurs, waiting for our grand event to expire us.
I say that’s all fine and good, but could we at least grow to be as smart and civil as the dinosaurs that came before us?
Let’s finally leave our caves once and for all. We discovered fire and the wheel a long time ago but really have made no progress since.
Perhaps a fingernail’s thickness only I imagine. A lot for us I am sure in the short time on this planet…but still only a fingernail.
by Philip Wardlow 2016
I stroll this earth in all my Fragile trodding from point A to Point B. Clip Clopping in and out of the lives of others. My footfalls echo off their souls and their smiles which always seem to gradually fade.
But never mind me, just let it rain all around this person I call I, which was placed in this time, upon this big space by unseen hands, holy or not. Forgotten or not. I am here and that’s a good thing.
“Truth hits everybody, ” I heard her say, as she walked on by, and I could see the Hole in my Life in her words as she pushed her cart on down the street and rounded the corner leaving me to think on things too much. I have much yet do. Much more compels.
So Lonely you think I be? Not hardly, for I see others just as desperate as me trying to flee this dream. Stay oh rats! Stay. This is a grand ship! Let’s share a piece of cheese!
I pass a bakery and smell the sweet aroma of cinnamon and raspberry and it makes me Hungry for you and brings me to Once upon a daydream thinking of that when of wanting you to Be my girl, Sally , or whatever your name was back then.
Seven days was all it took to create this place so they say. Perhaps whoever did it should have taken just a little more time and perhaps, just perhaps, there might have been just a little less pain involved for us all. Ah I digress, I always do.
When the world is running down like the so called pundits and arm chair philosophers like to speculate about, I recall all the lost Sallys, and the sweet smells, and all the rain that I have tread in and I can only smile. Because those are my memories, my experiences and they may not be here tomorrow. No matter how bad they were, or good…they are mine and mine alone and I treasure that.
That’s the shape of my heart on the matter. So I continue to dream this dream.
By Philip Wardlow 2016
I checked into Motel Sadness and sat down my bags of discontent.
The mini bar was stocked well, so I grabbed the gin and mixed the tonic of my life, crushed in my Lemon Eyes, raised my glass, gave a toast, telling them all I was Sorry for ever crossing their path.
I downed that motherfucker in one gulp and prepared another,
and another, and another… for the Heart heart head of thoughts that were sure to come.
The day disappeared as night consumed, wrapping me up like a A Bolt from the Blue. I laid there. Just laid there until she came. I heard her jimmy the lock of my life and Desire walked on through. She was high, and not very lady like as she straddled me,
high heels digging, she whispered with the reddest lips wrapped in a wicked grin,
“I really want you to hate me, Cuz I’ll never love you baby”. Then she got up and walked out to join a passing Parade.
So I got up….left my room and I ran and ran, like a child wild in a playground
down a street with no shadows; even though the street lamps cast
a deep sodium glow.
It seems I can’t even entice a dark silhouette to accompany me. Make a Shadow I intoned Make a Shadow so I dove, into a dumpster deep, and mingled with the garbage heaped, and fell fell fast asleep.
The Morning after came and the bears were rummaging, waking me from a better world
not so obscene.
I couldn’t face the ground with its vicious disregard to support so I climbed and climbed up the fire escape to the tippity top of the tar covered roof, sticky from the bright midday sun and jumped.
The dust flew from wings in full extension as a Feather floated to the alley below but I was light and I went up; on currents caught, finally realizing I was free.
Said my soul, Go
be that beautiful Monster they all believe you to be.
by Philip Wardlow 2016
They say when you see a person in your dreams and you see their face that means you MUST have seen them in real life.
The mind will NOT make up a face. Some person’s face you ran across made an impression upon your brain whether conscious or not.
They say 25% of people dream in black and white. Another astounding fact is that they say 75% of people used to dream in black and white prior to color movies & television appearing as a norm.
What does that mean?
Our minds are so malleable it seems. Impressionable.
I look for those impressions….I seek them out. In place, events, experiences, but mostly people.
You see, I want my writing to be REAL. As real as I can get it. The flow and rhythm of conversation. The give and take. The voice has to be right. Else, the story is ruined for me. I have to believe the character and the situation I put them in.
Yes, it can be a fantasy and still be believable If I make you believe in it.
So I look for scenarios…places, strange happenstances in real life… intriguing people. They may not even know they are intriguing. But they are. I collect them all in here (tapping the side of my skull with my finger now) with this, my brain and catalog them for later.
So when I write. I go to that well , that mega filing system of characters, places, things, events, and strangeness and pull them up and out and plop them into the story that fits. Like with most writers , it just comes. Journaling helps somewhat. It keeps the synapses firing and the memories sharper.
But mostly I just want to jump into things lately. Experience it. Anything new is the best…bring it on… skinny dipping? I’m all for it. Dancing…sign me up… Fencing with epee (sword)…I’ll take that class…more more more… I follow some of you bloggers, I have casual acquaintances on here and some I know pretty well through following and commenting and even emailing directly.
I want my brain to mingle in your flavor…taste it and get an impression of you….it’s fun to me. I have made some friends through all this mingling of the minds I am happy to say and hope to make more.
So don’t be surprised as that almost old saying goes…be careful or you may end up in one of my novels…:)
Outside your Window –
Have you ever had evil imaginings,
awake or dreaming,
and confused the two?
A palpable scene,
with the texture of black silk covering
from head to toe,
wrapping around your neck as your breathing slowed?
The dark outside solidified against the glass
as something settled it’s gaze.
A pinprick of pressure to the skin at
the nape of the neck.
It’s waiting to be let in.
Your hand rises to the latch, as you wonder
at the horror that seeks you and the curiosity in
which you seek your own demise.
Perhaps this will be the night
you finally die.
by Philip Wardlow